Purple
by ShadowShifter
Summary: A hunted ex-special forces turned mercenary. A 14yo runaway mage-thief. A handful of rough, uncut purple diamonds. A bunch of peace-seeking, community and environmentally aware megacorps. Yeah right.
1. Dakk

The warning bleeps on his armband increased in frequency and urgency. Behind him the sounds of pursuit faded slightly as they lost track of him in the dense scrub. He slowed down, his footfall silent on the leafy floor. His pointed ears were keen for the sounds of pursuit. It wouldn't matter if they shot him if they would at least shoot to kill. They wouldn't though. His right arm began picking at the band around his left wrist, slender, dextrous fingers exploring the electronics and helping build a mental model in his wired brain as his eyes continued to scour the area for pursuers.

It wouldn't matter if he just kept running. It wouldn't matter if the band exploded, taking him out with it. The electronics themselves weren't that complicated, the way they were put on was. He knew exactly where his combat knofe was. On some distant level he felt a tang of pain, felt the blood oozing slowly down his arm as he sliced through some skin. The expression on his face didn't change.

The knife touched the breakpoint. If he took the band off, it would explode. It was tempting. The point of the knife skimmed the breakpoint lightly and probed into the rest of the light tangle of wires. He needed two hands for this. It didn't matter. He thought about wincing without actually doing so as the knife slit a bit more skin. Slight shocks ran through his arm as he carefully cut a few wires. Ideally he should be looking at what he was doing too but hey.

The armband bleeped ominously. He pushed the cut wires back together in a different order. That should do it. Slitting the breakpoint just enough to let it slide over his hand, he slid the damned band off, pulled his dog tags off and hurled both away from him in the same direction.

The heatwave from the explosion propelled him forward on his way. He didn't bother looking where he was firing, picking the two moving targets and taking them down with his sliverguns as he sprinted through. He leaped up half the fence and scrambled agiley over the rest of it, ignoring the barbed wire ripping through his skin, and dropped down the other side.

He barely noticed the burning sensation from his new wounds as he hit the ground running, stumbling a little on landing but nonetheless continuing the momentum.

Pausing at the crest of the rise to catch his breath, he glanced disinterestedly at the compound that had been home for the last twenty odd years. His hand closed on the small pouch dangling from his belt, the contents of it pricking him lightly.

They would probably track him down eventually, once they realised he wasn't dead. Whatever. Let them come. He turned his back on the compound and headed purposefully towards the city.


	2. Ryivhnn

When it rained it poured. The city was more sombre, the stark grittiness seemed emphasised in every harsh line of every building. There was a couple of centimetres of water on the ground. It sloshed musically into overflowing drains, the system not doing a very good job of keeping the streets unflooded. The streets were slightly less crowded than they would normally be, people with brains electing to stay at home or in offices or in cafes or anywhere else out of the weather. The ones that were out were mostly dressed appropriately, with black and grey and navy umbrellas mushrooming over them, keeping the majority of the deluge off.

The gentle rhythm of the rain, the accompanying shuffle of motley pedestrians, was quite predictably broken by the loud, disjointed sloshing of a chase. A small girl, not quite appropritately dressed for the weather, trailing two soggy purple ponytails, wove expertly through the crowd, occasionally glancing over her shoulder, a slightly maniacal but excited grin on her face.

The cry of "Stop! Thief!" was also a familiar one as the gentleman in the suit, flanked by two rent-a-cops, pounded heavily in pursuit. They had nothing on the girl, who looked like she'd done this a few times before, plus having the added advantage of size, or lack thereof. People mostly ignored them. This part of town wasn't the seedier, darker side where sensible people did not venture, but it wasn't the rich end either. Here, you minded your own business and kept your head down and went about whatever it was you were doing unless you were looking for trouble.

There was a would-be do-gooder who lunged out to grab the girl as she went past. She expertly spun out of his grasping arms, accidentally knocking a passer-by who screamed obscenities after her. Ignoring them, the girl ran on.

The purple-haired girl ducked into an alleyway, scurrying down it a short way and ducking behind the convenient dumpsters that seem to breed in alleyways the world over. Quickly switching stray strands out of amethyst eyes, blowing on her frozen fingers in some attempt to warm them, the slightly pointed ends of her ears twitched a little as she listened for sound of her pursuers.

Nothing. Sitting up a little, shivering in the cold, she listened. Nothing but the soft pattering of rain. Smiling to herself, she lightly touched her loot for the day and rose to a standing position, stretching out her long, well toned legs, visible under her soggy cargo pants as they clung to her olive skin. She glanced both ways down the alleyway. Nobody seemed to notice her.

Turning her back on the entrance that led to the main drag, she cupped her hands together. Her eyes focused for a second. A small ball of fire erupted between both hands. Sweet warmth crept slowly through her numbed fingers. She sighed softly, her breath not having any affect whatsoever on the small flame. Her feet carried her down the alleyway in the other direction. At length, reluctantly, she closed her hands over the small fireball, putting it out. Head down, limp ponytails sticking to the side of her face, she trudged through the back ways, heading home.


	3. Coincidence

They were all called Johnson. Mr or Ms Johnson, depending on gender. They didn't all look the same. It was easier if you didn't know names. You couldn't spill things you didn't know. Mr Johnson in this case, glanced curiously at the runner he'd hired. He'd been in the business long enough to have come across most of the colourful variants shadowrunners came in. He hadn't come across anything quite as mysterious, intrigueing and apparently suicidal as this character.

The tall elf stared back impassively, half-slouched in the opposite side of the booth. His expression never seemed to change, and his smooth, rich voice never seemed to change in pitch. His age was impossible to guess, he looked about 25 although the length of time these elves lived you could never really tell. His light brown hair was streaked with blonde and caught back in a neat ponytail. The pure green of his eyes and the way they occasionally glinted or seemed to shimmer suggested that they weren't natural.

The elf had never given a name. The Johnson didn't really care to know it. The less he knew the better. So long as the job was done. He really only had to put the word out and the elf would come. There had been runs that even his seasoned runners wouldn't touch. The few that had tried on account of the money hadn't returned. This elf had come, seen, and conquered. Though he had returned from one run with an arm in a cast. From throwing his shoulder by the looks.

The Johnson smirked his approval. He loaded the silver credstick up with the agreed on pay, plus a bonus for the extra information acquired, and tossed it casually to the elf. There was a suggestion of movement. The elf daintily plucked the credstick out of the air. With the other hand, he pulled out a small credstick reader and shoved the credstick into the slot.

"I trust you find it satisfactory?" the Johnson inquired unnecessarily.

The elf nodded, credstick and reader disappearing into the voluminous depths of his long coat. "Pleasure doing business with you," he said tonelessly, his voice nonetheless pleasing on the ear. He rose gracefully to his feet, inclined his head slightly in the Johnson's direction, and strode out.

The sun was just setting over Seattle. It was early in the working day of shadowrunners and other underworld, unsavoury types. His green eyes darted about for potential signs of trouble before he stepped out onto the pavement, being dodged by pedestrians passing too close to the pub doors. Perhaps if he'd been anyone else he would have felt buoyant and happy about having completed a particularly nasty run and having the pay to show for it. He could replenish his stock and probably furnish that dinky little hole is resided in. He was him however, and none of those thoughts crossed his mind. Nothing filled the empty void inside him.

A surge of adrenaline coursed through his body as paranoia set in. Keeping his pace steady, he glanced casually at the windshield of a parked car, using only his eyes. A black van was crawling ponderously along the road in his direction. His paranoia intensified. Quickening his pace slightly, he glanced into the windshield of the next car. The van was pacing.

He broke into a run.

The van gunned its engine.

-= o =-

[Taskmaster] you weren't ready for that run.

[fyn] I got it didn't I?

[Taskmaster] if anything had happened you would be quite dead.

[fyn] I'm not dead. Why you care anyway?

[Taskmaster] ...

[Taskmaster] for someone who seems so intelligent you sure are stupid. 

[fyn] ...

[fyn] Bluerose was happy with my work.

[Taskmaster] Bluerose shoulda known better than to send you in blind like that.

[fyn] she thought I could do it

[Taskmaster] I am better able to judge your abilities in that field than she is.

[fyn] ...

[fyn] something's goin down outside

The small purple-haired girl leaped to her feet and dashed over to the window that occupied most of the far wall, hopping lightly onto the large bed type thing that had been built in under it. Downstairs, the deep, booming rolling thunder barks of the three guard dog barghests resounded around the otherwise silent industrial area.

She saw the sparks of a firefight less than half a block away. They sounded like they were using semi-automatic weapons. One van, black in colour, cruising serenely in her direction. Whatever it was they were chasing, they'd either caught it and pulled it into the van or it was out of her line of sight.

The alpha barghest roared. She heard the three of them rattling the fence as they flung their physical bodies against it. The entire warehouse was surrounded by fence. Nothing could get past the barghests. Well she assumed nothing could get past the barghests but she didn't really think anyone had bothered trying. There was nothing worth stealing in the warehouse. It didn't even look worth trashing.

Something was close by now. Maybe had even gotten through. The dogs were going ape shit.

Treading lightly with footware was not a problem for her, she was even more stealthy barefoot. She grabbed her staff and a pack of razor-edged cards as she bolted soundlessly to the door, pressing herself briefly against the stairwell and peering down into the darkness beyond. She couldn't see anything moving. Treading carefully, being especially wary of the creaky boards, she cautiously made her way down.

-= o =-

They probably had his scent but he'd managed to roll in through the door and shut it before the dogs got to him. Hopefully they would take more of an interest in his pursuers. That would buy him time. He had no idea what he would do with that bought time but hopefully it would be productive.

He dragged himself upright, his back against the door, and inspected the damage. Someone wanted him alive and in relatively good condition, he'd been shot a bit above the knee. He could take a pretty good guess who. The bullet was lodged in his muscle somewhere, it hadn't gone through. If they wanted him they could have just shot him in the knee and he wouldn't have been able to move. Until he got his knee reconstructed. He had that to his advantage anyway.

Fighting through the haze of pain, he quickly ejected the empty cartridge out of one of his sliverguns, reloaded, and checked the other. The other was half full. Or half empty. Depending on your outlook on life. He holstered the sliverguns and pulled out his FN HAR.

It wouldn't be long before they came in. The barghests had silenced suddenly. They were either dead or attacking in the astral plane. He would be ready.

His ears twitched as his ear mods picked up soft footfall, so light that normal hearing would not even have registered it. There was someone else here.

-= o =-

Reflex kicked in. She flung three cards as the gun came up, throwing herself out of the way scant seconds later. She heard the report the bullet made as it bit into the concrete of the stairs. Heart thumping fear around her body, she tucked and rolled, regaining her feet so rapidly it would have made Fei proud, and came upright facing the man with the gun.

Who was no longer in front of the door.

Her amethyst eyes dilated in surprise as she quickly scanned the room. There wasn't much in the way of cover down here, this warehouse was mostly empty and derelict. The only cover was the big support pillar in the centre of the room and the disused, mouldy crates she was taking cover behind.

A hand clamped over her face, stifling her cry of surprise. She wasn't aware of having her staff taken off her, just the realisation that she no longer had it. In the next fraction of a second she was very aware of the Ares Slivergun at her head.

"Don't scream." The voice was smooth, silky, rich, monotnous, with the lyrical undertones of a Sperethiel accent.

-= o =-

It was a child. Well a small teenager. After disarming her he wrapped an arm around her, pinning her slender arms to her sides. Her small body was trembling. He doubted she'd ever encountered a situation like this. Idly he wondered what the hell she was doing here in the first place. He glanced around quickly in case she had any little friends. Nothing.

"Stay down." He just short of threw her to the ground as the door opened. They went for cover fire today. He ducked back behind the crates, biting back a wince as his injury burned. Keeping his head low, he carefully peeked out over the top of the crate. The guy they were covering was scooting low across the floor towards the pillar. He pegged the guy in the head.

The corpse tumbled to the floor, carried forward a little by momentum. No hesitation. It got you killed. He raised his head slightly and pegged the two guys that were just stopping laying down cover fire. He knew he'd hit one from the way they fell, the other one pulled back.

He quickly reholstered the slivergun and pulled out the FN HAR, training it on the door. His ears twitched, listening for other sounds. As far as he could tell from his brief glance of the room, they could only really get in by this door unless they got the roller door open or came in by the stairs the girl had entered from.

A cautious head poked around the doorway again. He blew its face off. On the floor beside him the girl curled up into a tighter ball, her whimpers barely audible. Two, maybe three down. Probably about three or four more to go. More if he was really unlucky.

He was forced to duck as bullets screamed past his head, biting into the wall behind him. Too late, he heard the cracking of breaking wood as something fast drove through the crate. He grunted as the bullet slammed into his good leg, in the same spot above the knee. He didn't really have much time to register that he was falling before he hit the concrete floor hard and curled up around the new injury, doing his best to stifle his groan of pain. Although there was no point, they knew exactly where he was.

He glanced up into the startled, wide eyes of the girl. Slanted eyes, slightly pointed ears. She had a fair bit of elf in her. He struggled into a sitting position, again wincing as pain lanced up from his legs to his lower back.

"Aeon!" He didn't recognise the voice. "Are you going to come quietly?"

What a stupid fraggin' question. Dragging himself on one arm, he poked the FN HAR around the side of the crate and fired. He pulled back as his challenge was answered, but the returning bullets didn't even come close to hitting him. He noticed the girl sitting up on her knees, looking at him. The shock was gone, replaced by a strange sort of thoughtfulness, although the fear remained. What the hell was she doing here.

"[What did you do]?" her voice was so soft his mods only just picked it up. His ears twitched. He hadn't heard his native language for a while. Looking at her, he placed one finger on his lips, then turned his full attention back to the situation.

He heard silent footfall. Spinning swiftly, he brought the gun around and aimed it above the girl's head just as the troop in the familiar night camo stepped around the crates with his gun pointed directly at him.

There was the briefest of brief pauses as he made eye contact with his nameless ex-comrade.

"Game's up Aeon. Put it down."

He smirked and cocked his rifle. They wanted him alive. He didn't give a shit if they were dead.

The girl's hand grabbed the barrel of the troop's rifle. The entire cylinder up to the handle was very suddenly made of ice. The troop glanced down, his eyes dilating in surprise.

The elf pulled the trigger.

The troop grimaced as the bullet passed through his unprotected neck, and then toppled lifelessly backwards.

There was a light _tink_ sound accompanied by the skitter of something across the hard floor.

"Shit." The elf muttered. The girl shifted herself into a crouch, left hand held palm up close to her body. A small tongue of fire erupted in that hand. She leaped to her feet, her head providing a target for a fraction of a second as it rose over the crates, lobbing the fireball towards the door. The elf again reached around the crates and shot towards the door. He wasn't sure if the girl saw or heard the grenade go off, but he could hear the ominous hissing sound of gas escaping it.

"[They gone]," the girl commented.

"[No they haven't]." She looked down at him from where she stood. Her head only just came to the top of the crates they were hiding behind. Her brow furrowed in concern. The light tang of sleeping gas tickled his nostrils. The girl lifted her head curiously. Then wrapped her arms around his torso and began dragging him towards the stairs. As he shifted his gun to his other hand and trained it on the door, he realised the major reason they were moving so quickly was not necessarily because the girl was stronger than she looked, but because the concrete had a strip of ice that he was being dragged along.

The smell of the gas was getting stronger. He fought against the numbing effects it was having on his brain. They hit the bottom of the stairs. The girl stumbled. One arm securely around him, she used her legs to propel them up the stairs. Using his free arm, he helped as best he could.

The door opened again. The girl let go of him and pointed towards the door, and the troops just behind it, with an open hand. He blinked as a bolt of lightning leaped from her fingers, striking the grenade and sending it skittering madly towards the door. His deadened brain took a second longer than it had to respond, as a result he only shot one of the troops as opposed to two out of the three he could see. The girl dragged him a bit further up the stairs. He became vaguely aware of the door as she kicked it shut. It clicked, the light on it flickering from green to red.

-= o =-

He wasn't too heavy. She hoped she wasn't doing any more damage to him. He didn't seem to be complaining too much but then again he didn't seem the type to be complaining too much. She made a face at the blood rapidly spreading over his knees.

"[You right]?" she asked.

He nodded dazedly. She wasn't entirely certain if he was dazed from the pain or from the sleeping gas or both. She inhaled cautiously. A little bit of it was still seeping in through the slight gap under the door. She wrapped an arm around him again and struggled up the stairs. Fighting gravity was difficult. She almost wished she was dropping into a basement as opposed to climbing up to the second floor.

["What did you do]?" she asked him again as they paused briefly halfway up. She breathed properly this time. She couldn't smell any more gas. That was a good thing. Not letting herself stop too long, she grabbed him again and dragged him the rest of the way up the stairs.

It seemed so much easier on level ground. She paused only to get a better grip on him before dragging him all the way over to the couch. He helped her by pushing himself onto it and slumping there. Blood dripped onto the floor. He never took his hand off the gun, although he let it lay on the floor.

She arched an eyebrow. Here, in some better light, she could properly see his injuries. She didn't have to be a particular firearms expert to know that it had taken a bloody good shot to hit him in the exact same spot above both knees. "[I'll get the medkit. Uh...don't move]."

He chuckled mirthlessly. Well, it was almost a chuckle. More an amused snort. The medkit was on a wall easily accessible from all entry points to the room. She grabbed it and returned to the elf's side.

"[My name's Ryivhnn]," she offered, opening the box up. She gingerly touched his knee, making a face as her fingers came in contact with the sticky blood. Some of it was drying but more was seeping through. He relaxed back against the couch, but still seemed tense, as though expecting another attack.

"Dakk," he responded shortly.

She frowned. She had no real useful medical knowledge but from the placement of the bullet wounds and the lack of bleeding from the backs of his legs she guessed that the bullets were probably still wedged in there. "[Gimme a sec]." She leaped over to her computer, set on a low table on one side of a beanbag.

[fyn] TM! you better be around I need ya help!

[Taskmaster] I'm here.

[fyn] got an injured guy here, he been shot in both legs above the knee. don't think the bullets have gone through.

[Taskmaster] You really are stupid. You should know better than to get involved in things that don't concern you.

[fyn] the firefight came to me i didn't really have a choice whether i got involved or not now are you gonna help me or what?!

[Taskmaster] -sigh- is he still conscious?

Ryivhnn glanced over her shoulder at the elf. He was still moving his head, taking in the surroundings. Occasionally his hand, still on the butt of his assault rifle, twitched.

"Dakk," she called. "[You right still]?"

He waved his other hand in response.

[fyn] yeah he is

Taskmaster spat out a list of instructions. Ryivhnn arched an eyebrow, then went into study mode, drinking in the information and committing it to memory. She bounded back to Dakk's side. The elf was still conscious, if woozy. She looked down. The blood was still flowing.

She grabbed the largest bucket she could find, filled it with warm water and brought it over along with all the spare clean rags she could find. She settled beside him and felt his intense gaze on her. She glanced up, briefly making eye contact with Dakk. "[I'm gonna haveta make a cut or two. To get the bullets out]."

Dakk merely nodded.

Ryivhnn pulled a trauma patch out of the medkit and stuck it on Dakk's stomach, hoping that it would help at least a little bit. She glanced up at him again, then turned back to the task at hand. Feeling a bit squeamish, she picked the wound which she figured had been there longest on grounds of having more dried blood. Tearing the bullet hole in his pants larger, she then picked up a scalpel and carefully made a clean incision, making the bullet wound a little bit larger.

Dakk's leg muscles tensed, then relaxed, beneath her hand. They felt like iron bands. Trying hard not to jerk away, Ryivhnn looked up at him with a mumbled apology. It was smoothed over fairly rapidly but she didn't miss the brief expression of pain. Picking up tweezers and a popstick, she carefully seperated muscles, being as careful as she could not to do more damage or cause unnecessary pain. Finally she saw the bullet. Poking the tweezers in, she closed them around the bullet and pulled it out.

Dakk exhaled audibly as the bullet was extracted. Ryivhnn dumped the bullet in the plate she'd put aside for that purpose. Using one of the rags, she cleaned the blood off, and cleaned the wound as best she could, apologising each time Dakk seemed to react. Then stitched the skin together and covered it with a gauze pad and bandage. That at least she could do competently. She repeated the process with the other leg, slightly quicker.

"[How's that]?" she inquired.

Dakk nodded. He looked a little better.

"[I'm gonna haveta do something about this area]," she said, her tone playfully annoyed.

"[Sorry]." His speech was slightly slurred. She looked at him again while packing the medkit away. He looked like he was trying very hard to stay awake.

"[You safe here.]" She wasn't entirely certain whether he heard her or if he believed her if he had. Either way it didn't really matter. The assault rifle clattered all the way to the ground as his hand relinquished its grip on it. Ryivhnn bit her lip thoughtfully. She gently shifted him into what looked like a more comfortable sleeping position, squashed the thought about tying his shoelaces together as she removed his boots and covered him up with a blanket.

She could hear the barghests moving around outside. She was glad they hadn't been killed. Glancing again at Dakk, who looked tense even in sleep, she set about cleaning up.


End file.
